


shut your mouth (run me like a river)

by extasiswings



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Facial Hair, Jess is a Great Friend, M/M, More Like Epic Thirsting, Pining, Roommates, Smut, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: For the prompt: “My roommate just told me to stop growing my beard because if I get any more handsome, he’s gonna have to sleep with me, but what he doesn’t know is that I want that.”Or: Flynn stops shaving and Wyatt has a crisis.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Wyatt Logan, background Jessica Logan/Lucy Preston
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	shut your mouth (run me like a river)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostinspiration](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinspiration/gifts).



> So, this is for the lovely lostinspiration who gave me this prompt...nearly two years ago and then it sat in my drafts and got lost. BUT! I finally finished it.

Wyatt Logan is a good person. He works hard, he goes to class, he gets decent grades, tries to get along with people, is pretty well-liked—that’s not to say he’s never fucked up, because he’s definitely fallen down some bad rabbit holes, but for the most part he’s a good person.

Which is why he doesn’t understand why the universe is torturing him like this. “Like this” meaning with his roommate, Garcia Flynn. Or, more specifically, with Flynn’s facial hair. 

It starts the week before midterms—Flynn’s working as a TA for not one, but two different professors and between office hours and time spent studying for his own finals, he shaves maybe once over several days. No big deal—every time Wyatt sees him, Flynn looks more exhausted than anything else and Wyatt has his own exams to worry about. He brushes it off and figures they’ll both fall back into their normal routines soon enough. 

Except...Flynn doesn’t. Instead he just...stops...shaving. Or at least only does it enough to get clean edges on his carefully cultivated facial hair. And if the scruff was attractive when coupled with a Flynn who was running on fumes, once Flynn starts getting actual sleep again? Then it becomes downright sinful. 

(Look, Wyatt knows he’s not 100% straight. He’s slowly but surely been working on accepting that. But there’s a difference between acknowledging he may hypothetically be open to hooking up with a guy one day and actively having to stop himself from shoving his roommate against a wall and kissing him. And that desire is...a lot to process.)

It would be one thing if they were back to two years ago, when Flynn was just Wyatt’s TA for German and it didn’t matter if he featured in Wyatt’s fantasies every once in while because Wyatt only had to see him once a week. Now, they’re friends, they live together—if something were to happen now, if it went badly, that would be a disaster. A complete disaster. 

So, Wyatt says nothing, resigning himself to suffering in silence. And Flynn still doesn’t shave. 

Clearly, the universe has it out for him.

* * *

“I’m not going with you to a frat party.”

(Two weeks post-midterms and all Wyatt wants is to act like a stereotypical college kid for a night and go to a party to blow off some steam. Or...not all he wants, but—) 

“It’s not a frat party!” Wyatt argues. “It’s a _professional_ —”

“ _Fraternity_ for linguists,” Flynn interrupts. “And the last time you went to one of their parties, you drank something neon blue, threw up in one of the quad planters, and begged me to carry you the rest of the way home.”

Wyatt opens his mouth, then closes it. Flynn raises an eyebrow. 

“A) that was a year ago,” Wyatt finally says. “B) isn’t that all the more reason why you should come with me?”

Flynn laughs. “So I can carry you home?”

His hand comes up to rub at his chin and Wyatt flushes hot, clearing his throat before responding. 

“Or keep me from doing anything stupid,” he replies. 

“I don’t know,” Flynn says, leaning back against their kitchen counter. “What do I get if I do?”

His tongue flicks out to wet his lips—it’s something he does all the time, a random tic of his, it isn’t deliberate, but Wyatt nearly chokes anyway. It’s just that his tone—no. It’s not deliberate. Just another trick of the universe to make him suffer. 

“I—” Wyatt coughs. “—I’m sure I could think of something.”

Flynn hums, considering, while a smirk plays around his mouth. 

“I suppose, if it’ll make sure you get home in one piece…”

Wyatt pushes off the couch and turns toward the stairs to head up to his room, looking back over his shoulder to toss out, “No take-backs.”

“I’m keeping you away from the blue juice this time,” Flynn calls after him. 

“You can try!” 

(He just needs to blow off steam. That’s all. And after he does, maybe his brain will go back to remembering Flynn is his roommate, not his boyfriend or fuckbuddy or anything else, and he’ll be able to find some chill.)

* * *

To: Jessica  
From: Wyatt’s Not-BF

Have you heard from Wyatt? We were at a party, but he’s disappeared. I’ve been looking for him for half an hour and he’s not answering his phone.

From: Jessica  
To: Wyatt’s Not-BF  
unfortunately. he’s here. and v drunk. want 2 come collect him?

To: Jessica  
From:Wyatt’s Not-BF  
I...don’t think that’s a good idea. 

From: Jessica  
To: Wyatt’s Not-BF  
...care to elaborate? sharing is caring flynn. 

To: Jessica  
From: Wyatt’s Not-BF  
Thanks for taking care of him. 

From: Jessica  
To: Wyatt’s Not-BF  
that’s not an answer flynn

...flynn?

Garcia Flynn you did not just ghost me. 

To: Garcia  
From: Lucy  
When are you going to put Wyatt out of his misery and just make out with him? Asking because I’d really like to be able to have sex without having to worry he’s going to interrupt to talk to his ex about you. 

To: Lucy  
From: Garcia  
Wait, his—are you seeing Jessica? When did that happen?

To: Garcia  
From: Lucy  
It’s new—don’t change the subject. 

To: Lucy  
From: Garcia  
It’s complicated.

To: Garcia  
From: Lucy  
I’m sure it’s less complicated than you’re both making it.

Meet me at my place in 20. And bring ice cream—you owe me a milkshake.

To: Lucy  
From: Garcia  
Do you know what time it is?

To: Garcia  
From: Lucy  
Do you know how close I was to getting to third base?

To: Lucy  
From: Garcia  
...fair enough. 

To: Jessica  
From: Hot Historian  
Garcia’s here, asleep on my couch. I’ve been sworn to secrecy about what happened tonight, but you should DEFINITELY talk to Wyatt in the morning. 

Also I put Bailey’s in this milkshake and may have stolen Garcia’s phone. 

To: Hot Historian  
From: Jessica  
thats a dangerous combo. what r u doing?

To: Jessica  
From: Hot Historian  
You’ll see. They’ll thank me for this eventually.

* * *

Wyatt wakes up to the sound of a door slamming—startled, his eyes shoot open, and he immediately regrets it. His head aches, his mouth tastes like something died in it, and his stomach, well. He’s not convinced throwing up would really be such a bad thing given the way it’s roiling. 

_What the fuck happened last night?_

“You mean, besides the fact that you turned up here drunk off your ass and I graciously agreed to let you stay when I could just as easily have left you outside and gotten laid?”

Wyatt winces as much at the sentiment as the volume of Jessica’s voice even as she drops a bag of something greasy and fried on the nightstand next to him. 

“You’re a good friend,” he rasps.

Jess snorts. “I’m an amazing friend,” she corrects. “And if we were still fucking, I’d say you owe me an orgasm for the interruption last night. But since we aren’t, I’ll accept car maintenance instead. Esmeralda’s doing the thing with the power steering again.” 

Wyatt groans. “Do you know how much of a pain in the ass that is?”

“Do you know how gorgeous the tiny historian I had to kick out of bed last night was?” Jess counters. 

“I...don’t remember that,” Wyatt admits. 

“Yeah, you were pretty out of it,” Jess acknowledges. “Gonna tell me what happened to make you get that drunk?”

Wyatt rubs a hand over his face, trying to think through the ache and fuzziness of his head. 

“I think I need a minute.”

Jess bites back a smirk and nods toward the bag of food. “Eat. Take your time. And then deets. Flynn was being very tight-lipped last night.”

Wyatt freezes, the echo of a memory hovering just out of reach. Whatever it is though, he just knows it led him here. 

“You talked to him?” He asks.

“Yeah, he texted looking for you. He was worried,” Jess replies. “Let me guess—you left without telling him?”

“Drunk me doesn’t always make the greatest decisions.”

“More like never makes the greatest decisions. Although at least you had the forethought to come here.” 

Wyatt opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it. Because, honestly...that’s fair. 

His stomach still isn’t settled, but he reaches for the food anyway as Jess pulls out her phone and starts scrolling through her notifications. A few minutes later, he’s halfway through a breakfast burrito when she shrieks. 

“Oh my god!”

“What?” Wyatt asks. 

Jess mutters something under her breath that sounds vaguely like ‘Lucy, you didn’t,’ then tosses him her phone.

“Was this you?” 

There’s an app open, some sort of anonymous confession forum, and it takes Wyatt’s eyes a moment to adjust to the bright coloring of the page before he reads the actual post and blanches. 

_My roommate just told me to stop growing my beard because if I get any more handsome, he’s gonna have to fuck me, but what he doesn’t know is that I want that._

“Oh god.”

_”You’re really hot.” Wyatt’s not drunk, but he is solidly tipsy, and his verbal filter is—well. In his defense, Flynn does look really, really good in a tight black shirt and dark jeans, and the fact that he’s hiding away in the corner makes no sense._

_Flynn coughs, setting aside the beer he’s been slowly nursing, and stares. “What?”_

_“You’re—” It’s a terrible idea. A really, truly, terrible idea. But liquid courage is liquid courage and Wyatt can’t quite help himself. “—you have to know that. You’ve got the whole—with the height and the accent and the scruff—oh god, you really have to shave, dude, you’re killing me here.”_

_Flynn looks caught between amusement, confusion, and intrigue. “I have to shave?”_

_“Yes!” Wyatt insists._

_“Why, exactly?”_

_“Because if you get any more handsome, I’m gonna have to fuck you, and that would probably mess up the whole—” Wyatt gestures inarticulately. “—friends, roommates dynamic.”_

_Flynn stares like he’s been smacked in the head with a frying pan._

_“...seriously?” He asks._

_And abruptly, Wyatt’s filter catches back up with him, and all the blood drains from his face._

_“Oh god.”_

_“Wyatt?”_

_“Um, I have to—right, I need...another drink. Bye.”_

_“Wyatt!”_

_He doesn’t look back._

“No,” Wyatt groans, putting his head in his hands. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening. This really can’t be happening.”

“So...it was you,” Jess says. “That’s...impressive, actually. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.”

Wyatt sinks down into the mattress, wondering if he could convince the Earth to open up and swallow him. 

“I can never go home again.”

“Well, you can,” Jess replies. “And you will, if for no other reason than I’m not going to enable you hiding from your problems when they aren’t even real problems.”

“Of course it’s a real—”

Jess hums. “It’s really not. But I’ll tell you what. If I’m wrong, then you can come back and I’ll let you crash here while you wallow. I’m not wrong though.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because I have eyes. Now come on, finish your burrito and take a shower before you head out. You’re not going to convince Flynn to dick you down if you look and smell like death warmed over.”

Wyatt rolls his eyes and immediately regrets even that movement. “Thanks.”

“Power steering,” Jess calls over her shoulder as she leaves the room.

* * *

After managing not to pass out in the shower and going about three rounds with the emergency toothbrush Jess keeps in the bathroom, because once was really not enough, Wyatt cobbles together a clean outfit from various clothing items Jess stole from him over the years and prepares to face the music.

He almost doesn’t go home. When he checks his phone, he manages to see that he has multiple unread texts from Flynn right before it blessedly dies. He’s really not sure he wants to read them anyway. 

It takes awhile—he wanders through random stores, through the park, the campus quad—the scenic route. But eventually, there’s nowhere to go but home. 

Wyatt sighs heavily when he reaches the apartment, fishing his keys out of his pocket all while considering going back to Jess’s. As he opens the door, he thinks, maybe Flynn won’t be—

“Wyatt?

—no such luck.

Wyatt clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck.

“Hey, Flynn.”

For his part, Flynn is in the kitchen, looking entirely unruffled as per usual. Like nothing ever happened.

He still hasn’t shaved. Wyatt kind of wants to die. 

“Hey,” Flynn replies. “How’s Jess?”

“What? Oh—she’s fine. I didn’t realize you knew where—”

Flynn shrugs and starts filling a pot with water. “When I couldn’t find you at the party, I asked if she’d heard from you. She told me you were there.”

Wyatt winces. “Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have left like that, I was just…”

“You were drunk, Wyatt, it happens.”

Flynn’s voice is nonchalant, but he isn’t looking at Wyatt. In fact, he seems to be deliberately avoiding it. 

Why? Because Flynn hates him now, or because—

What was it that post said? _But what he doesn’t know is that I want that._

Is it really possible?

Wyatt’s stomach twists and he blurts out, “I was embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” Flynn says, turning away to set the pot on the stove. “I know you didn’t—I mean—”

“I meant it.” 

Flynn goes still. In profile, Wyatt can see the way Flynn’s throat works when he swallows, followed by the casual sweep of his tongue across his lips. 

He’s nervous, Wyatt realizes, and it gives him the courage to take several steps forward.

“I meant it,” he repeats.

“Yeah?” Flynn asks, finally meeting Wyatt’s gaze.

“Yeah. I mean—Christ, Flynn, I’ve had a crush on you since German class, you can’t really think—”

And then, Wyatt stops talking.

Because he’s being kissed. 

It takes half a second for his brain to catch up, but when it finally registers, Wyatt dives into it, fisting his hands in the front of Flynn’s shirt. 

“Me too,” Flynn says, nipping at Wyatt’s lower lip. “For the record.”

Wyatt’s brain nearly shorts out when Flynn presses him against the counter and turns his attention to his neck, the added sensation of Flynn’s scruff dragging against already sensitive skin entirely too much. But he manages to focus enough to ask—

“What?”

Flynn chuckles, pausing in his quest of leaving what Wyatt is sure will be a spectacular mark on his neck to say, “I’ve wanted you since German class. I just figured it wasn’t—” He shrugs and kisses Wyatt again.

 _We could have been doing this for months?_ Wyatt thinks.

Well. Fuck wasting anymore time then.

Flynn’s shirt comes off easily, and Wyatt lifts himself up onto the edge of the counter so he can wrap his legs around Flynn’s waist. Flynn’s hands are hot through Wyatt’s clothes, big and wide and Wyatt wants them everywhere—on his hips, on his ass, on his cock—he forgets completely about any lingering hangover, about anything else, because this is a fantasy come to life, it’s real, he can have it and he wants—

“Easy, cowboy,” Flynn says when Wyatt tugs at his belt. “It’s not a race.”

Wyatt nearly whines. Because no, it’s not, but he’s hard, and he can tell Flynn is too, and it’s been long enough that he would do just about anything to take the edge off. 

“Please,” he begs, dizzy with want. “Come on, Flynn. I said I wanted you to fuck me, right?”

“Technically, you said you would fuck me,” Flynn replies, and Wyatt can feel the smirk against his skin. “But I’m flexible.”

“God, you’re so—”

Wyatt’s voice cuts off when Flynn’s hand slips under the waistband of Wyatt’s sweats and palms his cock.

“I’m so…?” Flynn teases.

“You’re such an asshole,” Wyatt laughs breathlessly, arching his hips into the touch. “Don’t stop.”

He would be embarrassed by how quickly he comes, except that Flynn’s eyes are hot on him as he strokes Wyatt through it, as Wyatt shudders and swears and yanks Flynn back in to kiss him again after. When Wyatt goes for Flynn’s belt again, Flynn doesn’t protest, instead licking into Wyatt’s mouth filthily as Wyatt proceeds to return the favor.

“So…”

“So.”

They look at each other and laugh, and Wyatt’s cheeks warm. But he doesn’t feel panicked. He doesn’t feel like running away.

He doesn’t feel wrong.

“Shower?” Flynn suggests. “Dinner can wait.”

Since the kitchen smells like sex and the counter definitely needs to be cleaned...yeah, Wyatt thinks it can.

“Yeah. Come on.”

(If he ends up with a wicked case of beard burn...well. Worth it.)


End file.
